People Who Don't Love Us
by Halidom
Summary: I don't know why we fall in love with people who don't love us. It doesn't make it it hurt any less. A linear multiple POV story.
1. Prologue

**Gray**

As we sat on the beach, I watched as the snowflakes began to fall into your hair, hiding themselves in the blond strands. The cold reddened your cheeks, harsh on your milky skin, your freckles beginning to blend in where the wind attacked your face.

The temperature was dropping, and I was surprised that your tears didn't freeze as they fell from your lashes, from eyes as blue as the ocean in front of us.

This is when I decided I loved you, when you were crying over Cliff leaving town, leaving you. You romanticized him a restless traveler, but he was no more than a vagabond, a nomad at best. That thief, he stole your heart, but didn't even offer to take the rest of you with him.

And I, I had a girl who loved me, but she would be gone for two whole seasons, and I knew myself too well, and with her out of sight she would be out of my heart. She never let me in her bed, anyway.

" _I'll always be here_ ," I was hoping that my thoughts would penetrate through skin and bone to your brain as your head rested on my shoulder; as you poured your heart out to the ocean he sailed away on, and me, as your spirit began to wilt, like every one of your crops does when the winter comes.

The wind began to pick up, and the ocean spray glued loose strands of hair to our faces as sea salt, seawater and tears all mixed together.

You looked so beautiful in that moment you thought I was crying _with_ you, _for_ you, and light returned to your eyes for a moment, even though it might have only been the reflection from the lighthouse.

That was my moment, and I did nothing but cry over you as you cried over that _boy_ that wasn't even worth the heartbreak.

I could feel you chest rise and then fall as you breathed in deeply, sharply, trying to catch your breath as you drowned in your sorrow, swallowing gulps of salt in the air and in your tears, and the from mucus running from your nose. Oh, Goddess, you were so beautiful.

You tried to steady your words, and steady your thoughts, even though all that made it through was a chorus of "why"s.

I don't know why. I don't know why we fall in love with people who don't love us.


	2. Chapter 1

**Claire**

I always drank liquor from the bottom shelf. There was no point in wasting money when all you wanted to do was get drunk. There was no savoring the flavor whiskey, or tasting the tequila, when you were doing was just trying to wash away the taste of the day.

She chided me for drinking so much. No matter how cheap, it all added up. It didn't matter to me. I'd be going home to rough sheets and a cold bed. A cruel joke when a season ago I was pushed up against warm skin, and wrapping my legs around someone else's.

My first shot of the night sat untouched in front of me, as I held a lit cigarette in my left hand. The tendrils of smoke floated up, and the ashes fell to the counter top.

She sighed in defeat and moved down the bar to Karen and Rick, each leaning on each other half drunk. One half of the pair was only feeling lust; the other half was hopelessly in love. Ann poured her another glass of merlot, and him another ale, rolled her eyes and went back to cleaning glasses, eyes fixated on the doors, praying _he'd_ walk through them.

I know she loved him, too. In fact, I know she loved him more, and that she loved him still. I was already over him, but not over the motions. I was not over the idea of " _love"_ , over the idea of companionship.

Though she was staring, she wasn't really focused, I watched her jump as the bell above the doors jingled, and Gray barged in stamping his mud-covered boots on wood floors.

"Ann, get me a beer!" His voice was gruff and agitated as he yelled from across the room. What had gotten in to him? Was it just a bad day at work? He was so different since Mary left with her folks, and since that night at the beach.

"Don't be such an ass, Gray, or you're not getting another," she spat, as she placed his beer on the bar, and walked back to her spot, leaning against the wall.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my index finger tracing the rim of my glass, debating on whether I should take the shot.

"That old man let me out early," He told me, sitting down on the bar stool to my left, one leg resting normally, the other laying out straight. He quickly took a gulp from the mug, but never returned it to the table, instead letting it hover above the counter top, condensation dripping on to the wood, mixing with the ashes. "Besides, I live here."

"In the bar? Explains a lot," I said, a smirk painted on my face. I knew that would get him going, and I assumed I had found my own drinking partner for the night. I took a deep breath before swallowing the gold liquid. The taste burned my tongue and nearly set off my gag reflex, causing a small coughing fit.

I could see Gray's own smirk appear despite the momentary blurriness of my eyes, "Need a chase there?" He had removed his hat, his light red hair a mess, matted down in some places, sticking out in others. The cloth began to soak up the wetness of the table, but he didn't seem to notice, and I made no mention of it to him.

"No!" I snapped, I took the final drag of my cigarette, and put it out in the ashtray. "That's all the chase I needed."

Noticing he was clenching his jaw, and grabbing at his knee, I softened my tone, "Your leg acting up?"

Grey had been one of the best riders Mineral Town had ever seen. He used to work as a ranch hand for Barley, up until three years ago when he took a fall during a practice race, and hurt his leg pretty badly. That was a few months before I had bought the farm in the south of town. For as long as I had known him, Grey had been working at the blacksmith's for his grandfather. His reasoning was that he might have a bad leg, but he had two perfectly good arms to use.

"What's it to you, blondie?"

Tch.

"I'm trying to be nice, it must be hard with Mary gone until the end of spring."

"It's only the middle of fall."

"That's a long time to wait for someone."

His eyes became unfocused and he took on the same look as his sister, "I've waited longer for less."

" _I have too_ ," I thought.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm back after almost a year, and I'm here prepared to tear your heart to shreds. Sorry.


	3. Chapter 2

**Karen**

Is it better to use or be used?

That's a question that's been at the back of my mind for years.

My first year of high school, an upperclassman came up to me and kissed me. It was unexpected and exciting. I responded by asking him for a cigarette. He laughed, and told me I could have one if he could have another kiss. I grabbed it from his hand the moment our lips parted for the second time.

Three weeks later I was skipping class to make out with him under the bleachers. I remember awkwardly fumbling under his shirt, over his pants. Before heading back to class, we each smoked one of his cigarettes, and he gave me an extra one for later. I was left feeling frustrated, and entirely new sensation overwhelmed me.

The beginning of the second year, I went down on him behind the gym. He got off and gave me his whole pack of smokes as thanks. I had to smoke two to get the taste out of my mouth. He once again worked me up, and never finished me off, left like in the air like the tendrils of smoke.

I decided that if I wasn't getting anything out of it, it wasn't worth it, and I began a series of one-night stands, and quick non-penetrative hookups in the janitor's closet. I lost it all to that same boy after a football game, in the back of his beat up old car. I never spoke to him again after that. I couldn't even tell you his name.

It was funny how Rick stood by me all those years, despite his harsh words, and still hangs around even after I've slept my way through a group of vacationing frat boys.

I had wanted to go off to college myself, and I suppose Rick did as well, but fate had other plans for each us. We're both still stuck in Mineral Town. He decided that he needed to be around and take care of his ailing mother, and keep an eye on Popuri, making sure she didn't get too involved with the beach shack owner.

I laughed to myself every time Rick ranted and raved about his sister's love for the traveling chef and "play-boy", the two had consummated their relationship the previous summer, and had spent this entire one avoiding an older brother's wrath. He wasn't a playboy, despite his flirtatious nature; anyway, I could never get him in to my bed.

I, however, still wanted to travel the world; I wanted to visit different countries, instead I was left to drink the imported wines from each of them.

My father is a severe hypochondriac. If he caught a cold, it was the flu. He caught the flu he swore it was pneumonia, or even the plague. He'd lock himself up in the house, and my mother would have to look over him, poor thing, leaving me to look over the store, flipping through travel magazines as cigarette butts piled up in the ashtray. The worst of it happened only a few days ago, however.

He wasn't feeling well, and as usual, he wound up at the clinic. His worst fears, and mine, perhaps, were realized when the tests they ran came back telling us he had stomach cancer. Before he had been being treated for ulcers.

My parents have locked themselves in the house, and I've been running the store, _again_. Angry and upset, I headed towards the inn to drink myself stupid. Maybe there'd be some late season hikers to flirt with, or off-season vacationers.

When I got there, however the room was mostly empty, save for two familiar faces I had grown up with.

"Hey, Ann!" I had yelled to her from the doorway, snapping her out of her trace. The poor girl hasn't been the same since Cliff left, even if she was his secret, but it wasn't a secret to me, or most of the town. I found myself in my usual barstool before she could even respond.

"Hey, Karen. What'll it be?" The redhead put down the wine glasses she was cleaning, and walked to the back shelf.

"Two shots of tequila and a slice of lime," I told her, leaning my head on my open palm.

"That's a bit much for so early, isn't it?" A voice came from my right, that familiar, familiar voice, "You might regret that later."

"Oh, my dear Rick," sarcasm dripping from my voice, "You of all people should know I live without regrets, and besides it can't be _that_ early, _you're_ here."

He shook his head and laughed at me, his glasses beginning to fall off his nose.

He pushed them back up, the light from the window catching on the lenses, brightening his straw hair to gold.

My mind flashed to my hand running through it, but I quickly shook my head and laughed to myself as Ann placed the shot glasses in front of me. I turned to my best friend, and held the glass halfway between us, "Cheers, Rick."

He shook his head again and tilted his half empty glass of some type of pale ale to me, "Cheers, Karen."

* * *

Those were my only two shots of liquor for the day, and I switched to my beloved Merlot. Rick became more charming the more I drank, though I knew it was the wine, but to get what I wanted, I had to bolster his confidence, and make him think it was actually him in control. Sometimes it really is too easy.

Later, Claire came in to the bar, and gave me that knowing look, and when Gray came in later I shot it right back. A secret between us, the _man-eaters_ , they call us, the ones who try not to love the people we know will never love us.

A few drink later, Rick and I slipped away from the bar, the early winter and light snow covering the ground would have been chilly if not for the alcohol in my veins. I knew where this was leading, and he was leading me to his house, as I had led him to this decision hours ago.

* * *

"Oh, come on, it was just a fuck. Nothing special," I told him, slipping on my shirt, my bra was nowhere to be found, lost among Rick's own pile of clothes.

He looked as if I had just slapped him across the face. Something he probably would have preferred.

I found my jeans, and pulled out the pack of cigarettes, quickly fumbling around in the pack for one of the few left in the cardboard; I'd have to swipe a new pack when I got back home.

"Don't look at me like that," the cigarette hanging from my lips muffled my words. "You knew what this was."

I flicked my lighter. He didn't say a word. The lighter didn't light the first time, I flicked it again to the sound of my own heartbeat. It lit and I breathed in, inhaling the nicotine, inhaling the feeling of that first time.

I sat on the edge of his bed, and placed my hand on his. He sat propped against the pillows, naked body still under the covers. Exhaling towards the ceiling and I felt Rick shift to grab his own pack of cigarettes off his nightstand. I never learned how he learned to love menthol. I gave him his first cigarette, and I was a decidedly non-menthol person.

We stayed like that for a minute. Maybe two. He didn't move besides to take a drag or to ash his cig, and neither did I.

Finally, I gave in, I always do, I broke the silence, "You know I don't love you like that, I can't."

He got angry after hearing that, and jumped up from his bed. "What the fuck Karen! Then why do this at all?"

The ashes fell from the cigarette on to my thigh; I remembered I never put my jeans on.

"I'm not someone you can just fuck around with! I actually care for _you_ , I don't care about _this_!" He motioned towards the sweat stained sheets, the wet spot. 'I don't know how you can sleep around so easily!"

That cut deep, but it was clean. I looked over at him, and got up. I walked over to my jeans and pulled them on, and then walked back over the nightstand, where a half-empty glass of wine sat. I put the burning filter out in the ashtray, and finished the wine in one gulp. Placing the glass down, I turned to leave the room.

"Aren't you going to answer me?" He demanded to know as I walked past him, away from him.

"You're my best friend, and I love you, but I don't love you the way you want me to," I stood in his doorway another minute, looking back at him, naked, exposed, vulnerable. "We should pretend this never happened."

With that I left his room, then his house.

His name was Calvin, and his eyes were blue, and he wanted to travel the world as much as me.


	4. Chapter 3

**Ann**

"You never loved him, you never loved him, you don't love him!" I screamed at the mirror.

Was I screaming at my reflection or was I imagining Claire in the mirror? Was I trying to convince myself or was I telling the truth? My braid was coming undone and my cheeks were flushed from my screaming. The last time they were this red was when I was in his bed, under him, as he moved, so, so….

I screamed again, in frustration.

" _Why didn't he take me with him, why didn't he let me know_?" I wondered, as I looked around my room, my rampage left the room disheveled, more so than myself.

Did he ever say I love you? Did he ever whisper it as he traced my jaw with his thumb, or as he peppered my collarbone with kisses or as his tongue trailed south? Was "love" a word that ever left his tongue, even if so many "forever"s and "never"s had.

Had I been so _stupid_? I was worse than Rick, I decided. Rick had a chance. Karen might eventually give up on being whisked away. But Cliff, he wasn't from here, and he _left_ , why did I think I was part of that, part of him, more than a moment in his life?

Oh goddess, why did I decide to give him my virginity? That look in his eye, that wayward, _vulnerable_ look. I should have known that I was the victim.

Claire had come out unscathed, and here I was, a wreck. Oh, I knew why Cliff visited Claire down at her farm on those sunny afternoons, but I assumed that my own virginity was worth more than whatever Claire had to offer; but I was wrong. So wrong.

I still couldn't decide. Had I really loved him? Or had he been a new opportunity, a first opportunity? Oh Goddess, oh goddess. What had I expected? What had I _wanted_? Twenty-one and my life as I knew it was crumbling.

I looked back at my reflection again, a pale, freckled, broken girl. I punched the mirror and it shattered, the blood pouring from my hand darker than my hair, than my spirits.

Gray raced in to my room, his hair disheveled from tossing and turning in an unsuccessful attempt to sleep. His pupils were dilated from the drinking contest he and Claire began without words. Even in his drunken state, my brother cared more than my lover had, and my brother was more distant than most; or maybe just more honest.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm back! Er, for now? Permanently, I hope.

Also, thank you to the guest reviewer who pointed out that I switched from first to third, I hope I fixed them all!


	5. Chapter 4

**Gray II**

It's fucking awful trying to take care of my own head, but now I have my sisters to worry about.

Who smashes a mirror with their bare hands? Who rips out their hair?

That fuck; if I ever get my hands on him I'll wring his neck. She could sob and beg, and I'd murder her lover in front of her for my own comfort.

It felt like a punch to the gut when he left Claire, but I was so wrapped up in her, and in my attempt to hide it from Mary that I didn't notice what he was doing to Ann.

My blood was boiling. My skin was cold.

As soon as she calmed down, I went back to my room to try to do the same thing.

Is this what a man can do?

What had I done to Mary, and did she know?


	6. Chapter 5

**Claire II**

By habit, the first thing I do when I leave the house is check the mailbox.

I received a letter from you. It read that you still haven't found what you're looking for, that you're still not happy.

You left me here, you know, with fall drawing near close, and an early blanket of snow coating the ground. Even if what we had wasn't love, it was _something_. I would have rather had a shadow than nothing at all. And poor Ann, she wanted it all, you and all your flaws. I was fine with just a good time.

Now everywhere I look, I see the pity in everyone's eyes, and hear sympathy in simple sentences. _How are you today_ is always worried, _have a good day_ is genuine, not a habitual goodbye. I'm not even the one who is actually hurt by all of this. How could you do this to Ann?

I am fine without you, I have learned. My farm is flourishing in the final days of the harvesting season, and my animals are happy.

I've been drinking at the bar more than usual, the only thing I'm really missing is your company, and even that I can do without. I've found someone else to occupy that time.

Gray doesn't miss Mary at all it seems, he, like you, must feel free. Maybe he needed time to think and it was an ideal circumstance.

I threw your letter in the fireplace, I decided that you did affect me, even if I know you sent that letter to rile me up. You left; I couldn't care less about people who don't want to hang around.

Your leaving has set in motion a strange course here in Mineral town. Time will tell how it plays out, I suppose, but I want no part of it.

All you are is just another man who didn't love me, just loved what I could do.


	7. Chapter 6

**Rick**

I was tracing patterns on your back; hearts and circle. I was connecting moles and freckles, finding familiar shapes on your familiar skin.

This was the second time this week you found yourself here.

The taste in my mouth was a mix of your cheap merlot and my even cheaper IPA, my body heat seeped away from me as you stole it, like you stole the blankets from my side, as you took over my whole bed. The same way you had taken over my whole life.

You mumbled his name in your alcohol-induced slumber. I tried to imagine you were calling out my name as I leaned in to you, half-aroused from your earlier actions before you turned over and passed out, but I couldn't. His name stuck to your tongue then rolled off, the first syllable setting off your gag reflex, like your first time taking him in your mouth. At least that's what you said years ago, causing me anxiety in how I would ever compare. The last half of his name purred out of your mouth. Whenever you said my name, it was sharp and short. A pick in ice, the clang of a spoon hitting the floor. Always cacophonic.

You still dreamt about him, after all these years, and all the letters he sent you to make you hold out hope, and hang on. Did you really love him? Do you still? Could you ever love me? What did he have that I could never understand?

I could love you and love you and love you. I have given you everything. He has given you nothing, and you still call his name out in the night, in another man's bed.

A fresh pack of cigarette sat on my bedside table. Turned away from you to reach for them. I was afraid the crinkling of the cellophane would wake you up, but you just breathed in deeply as dream of him flitted through your mind, behind your green eyes.

I lit the cigarette and took a drag to try and calm myself down, but just finding my hand down my boxers, wondering how my life turned in to this.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm back I think. It's been over a year, and these chapters may not be worth the wait. I was really stuck on this story while I worked on the real-life situations that inspired this. Now that I've reflected, I can continue this story, however short the chapters may be (the downside of multiple POV, I'm not George Martin!)


	8. Chapter 7

**Gray III**

Mary never knew, I decided. She sent me a letter, as loving and modest as ever. She let me know how the traveling was, how the decided to settle in Oak Tree Town for a few seasons.

She had no idea, and I was free.

I was taking shots at the bar with Claire at my side. She was beginning spend her newly earned harvest money, and she was buying for the both of us.

"You know," I might have slurred my words, "if I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to get my drunk."

She looked at me dead in the eye, and blew the smoke from her clove cigarette away from us, towards her right elbow, away from her own drink, "Gray, if you're in this bar before I am, you are already drunk." She took another drag.

I couldn't win against that logic, but I could argue, "Hey, sometimes I walk in here and you are already smashed!"

"Rarely," she rolled her eyes, and looked at Ann for a second, before returning her gaze to me, "But only in the winter when I have nothing to do but spend money." She paused, then yelled, "Hey, Ann, can I get two more shots? For me, not him!"

"And your harvest just ended!" I pointed my finger at her, thinking I made a point.

"Yeah, it's the last day of the harvest, I worked hard today," another eye roll.

"Why are you holding out your fingers?" she asked, as I held another one out.

"I'm counting how often you roll your eyes as me," I laughed, I hadn't even noticed I was counting.

"You don't have enough fingers," her face was blank, but her eyes lit up.


End file.
